The road to Mortal Dust City was paved with gray stone, worn smooth by centuries of wagon wheels and marching boots.
Li Fan walked with a steady, rhythmic gait. To the casual observer, he was just another traveler in a bamboo hat and dusty robes. But underneath the brim of the hat, his eyes were scanning everything—the depth of the wagon ruts (indicating heavy trade), the number of guards on the walls (increased since his last life), and the subtle fluctuations of Qi in the air.
Two cultivators at the gate, Li Fan noted. Qi Condensation Layer 3. Mercenaries hired by the Ye Clan.
He stopped a hundred yards from the city gates, slipping into a dense copse of trees off the main road.
It was time to disappear.
He sat cross-legged behind a large oak tree and placed his hand on his dantian.
Buzz.
The Heaven-Deceiving Copper Coin hummed. It didn't vibrate physically; it vibrated spiritually. It felt like a drop of cold water rippling through his meridians.
Li Fan closed his eyes and visualized a mask.
In the cultivation world, disguises were common. Most used "Illusion Pills" or "Skin Masks," but those had flaws. A pill could be detected by smell; a mask could be seen by a sharp eye.
The Copper Coin was different. It didn't change his physical face. It changed the perception of his face.
It emitted a subtle mental field that told anyone looking at him: This person is blurry. This person is dangerous. Don't look too closely.
Li Fan stood up. He adjusted his robes, loosening the belt to change his silhouette. He rubbed dirt on his hands to hide his pale, sect-disciple skin. Finally, he pulled the bamboo hat low over his brow.
He took a deep breath, changing the rhythm of his lungs. His voice dropped an octave, becoming raspier, like a man who had smoked spirit-tobacco for twenty years.
"Disciple Li Fan is gone," he whispered, testing the new voice. "Now, I am merely a passerby in the dust."
He stepped back onto the road.
Mortal Dust City
The city was a beast of stone and noise.
As Li Fan passed through the massive iron gates, a wave of sound hit him. Hawkers shouting prices, blacksmiths hammering iron, children screaming, and the rumble of spirit-beast carriages.
The air smelled of roasting meat, unwashed bodies, and spices imported from the Southern Wilderness.
Li Fan moved through the crowd like a ghost. He didn't push; he simply drifted into the gaps between people. When he passed a group of rough-looking mercenaries, they instinctively stepped aside, their subconscious warning them to avoid the man in the bamboo hat.
He ignored the glittering jewelry shops and the noisy brothels. He headed straight for the Drunken Immortal Pavilion.
It was the largest teahouse in the city, a three-story wooden structure that served as the unofficial information hub for mortals and low-level cultivators alike.
Li Fan entered the bustling ground floor. The waiter, a mortal boy with a towel over his shoulder, rushed over.
"Guest! Welcome! Table for one?"
Li Fan didn't speak. He simply nodded and pointed to a secluded table in the back corner, shadowed by a decorative screen.
He sat down, placing his sword (the rusty one he took from Zhao) on the table with a heavy thud.
"A pot of Iron-Leaf Tea," Li Fan rasped. "And silence."
The waiter gulped, feeling a chill run down his spine. "Yes, sir! Immediately, sir!"
Li Fan sat back, crossing his arms. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes were closed, but his ears were wide open.
Information Filtering: Active.
The teahouse was a cacophony of voices, but Li Fan's mind—honed by thousands of years of survival—picked apart the noise like a master weaver separating threads.
Table 3 (Two Merchants): "...price of grain is up again. The City Lord raised taxes on imports."
Useless.
Table 8 (Three Mercenaries): "...heard the Ye Clan is recruiting guards for a caravan to the Capital. Ten silver coins a day."
Useless.
Table 5 (A group of wealthy scholars): "...it's a tragedy. City Lord Su hasn't slept in weeks. I heard the girl screamed all night again."
Target Acquired.
Li Fan focused his attention on Table 5.
"It's terrifying," one scholar whispered, leaning in. "My cousin works as a maid in the Manor. She says the Young Miss freezes over at noon. Literally freezes! Frost forms on her eyebrows even in the summer heat. But at midnight... she burns. Her skin turns red like heated iron."
"Hasn't the City Lord hired help?" another asked.
"He hired everyone! Physician Wang, Alchemist Liu... even a wandering monk from the East. They all shook their heads. They say it's a curse from the Heavens. A 'Cold Poison' that eats the soul."
"Curse? I heard the City Lord is offering ten thousand gold and entry to his private Treasury for anyone who can cure her."
"Ten thousand gold? Hah! What use is gold if you catch the curse yourself? Nobody dares to go near the Manor anymore. The guards say they hear wailing from the inner courtyard that sounds... inhuman."
Li Fan opened his eyes. A faint smile played on his lips.
Freezes at noon. Burns at midnight.
It matched perfectly.
In the medical texts of the Mortal Dust Empire, these symptoms were indeed called "Yin-Yang Severing Poison." It was considered incurable.
But Li Fan knew the truth. Su Ling didn't have a disease. She had a physique.
The Nine-Yin Meridians.
It was a legendary body type suitable for practicing supreme ice-elemental arts. However, without a cultivation method to guide the energy, the massive amount of Yin Qi accumulated in her body and went berserk.
At noon (Yang peak), the external Yang clashed with her internal Yin, causing frost.
At midnight (Yin peak), her body tried to purge the excess energy, causing the fever.
"She doesn't need a cure," Li Fan thought, taking a sip of the tea the waiter had just delivered. "She needs a conduit. She needs something to ground the energy."
In his 340th life, Li Fan had spent ten years studying alchemy under a Medicine King. He knew that the so-called "Cold Poison" could be neutralized by a simple, crude mixture.
Fire-Wisp Grass to introduce mild Yang energy.
Boar Blood to act as a heavy, grounding medium.
Mixed together and consumed hot, it would act like a lightning rod, drawing the excess Yin Qi out of her meridians and into her gut, where it could be digested.
It was a primitive solution. A "trash" cure. But it worked.
"The Alchemists are overthinking it," Li Fan mused. "They are trying to use high-tier pills to suppress the energy. That's like trying to stop a flood with a dam. The dam will break. You need to dig a canal."
He finished his tea and dropped two copper coins on the table.
He had confirmed the timeline. Su Ling was still sick. The City Lord was desperate. The reward was still the Treasury.
He stood up, grabbing his rusty sword.
The teahouse chatter died down slightly as he walked toward the exit. His aura was cold, detached, and dangerous.
"That guy..." a mercenary whispered as Li Fan passed. "He smells like blood."
Li Fan didn't pause. Of course he smelled like blood. He had dissolved a man in acid less than twenty-four hours ago.
He stepped out into the bright, noisy street.
"Next stop," Li Fan said to the dusty air. "The market. Time to buy some pig feed."